


Triple Point

by AnotherSpoonyBard



Series: Chaos Theory [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos Theory AU, Character Study, Gen, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherSpoonyBard/pseuds/AnotherSpoonyBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In thermodynamics, the triple point of a substance is the temperature and pressure at which the three phases of that substance coexist in equilibrium.</p><p>Renji Abarai is a soldier, a fukutaichō of the Gotei 13. He is a friend, someone who would willingly risk everything he had for anyone he holds dear. And part of him is just a Rukongai dog, howling at the moon he can't reach out and seize. Maybe one day he'll learn how to be all of them at the same time. </p><p>In which Renji does a little soul-searching, and gets his own damn bankai, thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This be part of the _Chaos Theory_ AU. It probably won't make any sense unless you've read _The Butterfly Effect_ first. Takes place between that fic and _The Three-Body Problem_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I walked back to where I'd once called home  
> But the rooms were dark and bare and the garden overgrown  
> And the door was still locked and the windows still shut  
> And the wall was still cracked  
> Why did I come back?  
> And the answer so thin left me hollow within  
> 'cause nothing had changed except the date and my age  
> And I still have this pain bloating my veins  
> Thumping in my aching brain
> 
> From ‘Stray Dog’ – Passenger

No more than a month after Ishida had left the Soul Society, the chaos he’d brought with him was still everywhere. 

Of course, it wasn’t nearly all his fault. Renji knew that. But not everyone had been so close to the happenings. Until all the information was sorted through and released to the general population, a lot of people would probably be thinking that the Quincy invader had something to do with the traitor captains. It was the easy assumption to make, considering how close together everything had happened. And what most people thought about the Quincy as a group. 

Renji occasionally put in a good word for the kid, if he happened to be around people discussing it—but honestly not much could be done until things calmed down a bit anyway. Maybe eventually Hisagi would be able to get back to the press and put the truth out there, but considering that the Ninth had just lost its captain… well, Renji wasn’t expecting that too soon. 

His progress to the Fourth was obstructed by people milling around or trying to get in and out of the area. It seemed like no one really wanted to be by themselves right now—and everyone was struggling to get back to business as usual. He couldn’t blame them. Nothing like this had happened in the history of Soul Society, as far as he knew. Most of the shinigami here had had their worlds flipped upside down—and backwards for good measure. A month wasn’t enough time to deal with all of that. 

Property destruction had been pretty minimal, with the exception of the area around where he and Ishida had fought, and the Sōkyoku Hill itself. But the lack of damage to repair on the surface of the Seireitei was a bad reflection of what was going on inside it. 

Turning in towards the Fourth, Renji dodged an outgoing messenger and stepped into the hospital. Ignoring the front desk, he bypassed several plain doors and reached one near the end of the hall. It already sat ajar—he wondered if maybe she had another visitor. 

A quick glance inside, however, revealed only Isane making notes on a clipboard. She looked a little better than she had in the first few days after everything, when the injuries had been major. Only she, Unohana, and a few of the higher seats were really good enough to cope with the wounds sustained that day, so he knew she’d had a lot to do. 

Renji crossed the threshold, clearing his throat. 

Isane started, clearly not expecting anyone to be there. Something in her hair clanged against the earring on the same side, and she took half a step back. “Oh. It’s you, Abarai-san.”

He blinked. “Someone else I should be?”

Isane shook her head. “No. Sorry. I just… you’re earlier than usual.”

“I didn’t realize.” His feet had just taken him this way. 

His eyes shifted to the room’s sole bed, and he felt himself frown before he really decided to do so. It was such a bizarre thing, to see Momo hooked up to that many machines and wires and whatever. He almost couldn’t reconcile this with the memory of her as the person who’d first stopped running and faced down those Hollows on their training mission. Or even the vice-captain of the Fifth, so _proud_ of her division—and smiling more often than not.

He clenched his teeth, feeling a surge of hot anger. It was _his_ fault. Aizen’s. Renji didn’t care about thrones or limits or any of the rest of that shit—he cared about what that bastard had done to them. To Rukia. To Momo. And indirectly, to Izuru and Hisagi and Rangiku as well. But this… something about this was worst of all. 

“She’s stable,” Isane said from beside him. 

He forced his eyes away from Momo and to the Fourth’s fukutaichō. She wore a placid expression—the same sort all the healers had. But Isane’s was imperfect, he thought; it was as though she couldn’t stop herself from caring quite well enough. Selfishly, he was glad that someone like that was looking in on his friend. 

“But we can’t say when she’ll wake up. It could be tomorrow, or…” she pursed her lips. “Or a long time from now.”

“You mean never.”

She looked away—but she nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Aizen’s the one who has to answer for this, not you.”

Isane’s knuckles went white on her clipboard. With exaggerated care, she replaced it at the foot of Momo’s hospital bed. “Be that as it may… we will continue to monitor her condition. I could… I could let you know if anything changes?”

Renji inclined his head in a terse nod. 

He might have heard her sigh, but it was hard to tell. She paused for a moment, moving her hand towards him in the beginning of a motion she never finished. Instead, she let it fall back to her side and slipped out of the room—leaving him alone with his friend. 

“Hey Momo.”

He hadn’t known what to say to her the first time. He still didn’t. But Isane had told him that talking to her might help her. If that was all he could do, well—Renji was damn well going to do it. 

Approaching her bedside, he crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight a few times. Back and forth, from one side to the other. He was constantly in flux, these days. “Everything’s still kind of a mess around here.” 

Her breath fogged the breathing machine they had her attached to. Her chest rose and fell steadily. But she did not reply. 

“Your Third Seat’s doing what he can. Some other people are helping out, too. If you’re not awake by the time the schedule’s back to normal, I’ll take your zanjutsu drills for you. I know you don’t like teaching those anyway.” He grimaced. “I can’t help with the kidō ones, though. I’m not sure Izuru’s gonna be in any shape, either, but I’ll make sure someone teaches ‘em.”

He might be able to ask Rukia to do it. But that was a whole different can of worms; one he’d have to deal with pretty soon. 

The mechanical whirring of her machines was the only sound for a long time. Renji stared at Momo, then stared out the window, then stared at the ceiling for a while. He hated this. He hated everything _about_ it. His hands tightened on his arms until it was painful.

“You have friends, you know,” he said, his voice rough. “When you wake up— _when_ —I’m gonna remind you of that. ‘Cause you’re probably gonna feel like your whole damn world ended. But it didn’t. We’re still here.”

No response. 

Renji swallowed. “Wake up soon, Momo,” he said. 

“We’re waiting for you.”

* * *

He wasn’t exactly sure when checking in on everyone had become a routine, but it had. Renji did divisional work in the morning, and then went to see Momo during the lunch hour. After that, he led a training session—which one depended on the day—and after that, he made his way to the Third to check in on Izuru. 

Nowadays, the third was functioning about as well as the Ninth, which was to say that the first few months had been really rough, but the edges were starting to smooth down a little bit. Izuru had done a lot of the work for his division to begin with. It wasn’t like Hisagi’s situation, where the captain had intentionally kept the most difficult aspects of the job to himself. 

As a result, picking up the slack wasn’t as hard. The mood was about as depressing as everywhere else, but when Renji entered the office, all the desks in the front room were occupied, and people were shuffling papers around. None of them smiled; only a few even looked up when he entered. 

The captain’s office was sealed off by kidō to prevent entry, but the door to Izuru’s on the other side of the hall was wide open. It gave him a view out towards the front. Renji couldn't imagine that was accidental. He knocked a couple times on the frame before stepping into the room. 

Izuru raised his head after a moment. By this point, Renji doubted his presence was a surprise. The other man smiled thinly. There was a dark circle under his visible eye; most everyone had them at the moment. 

“Renji.”

“Izuru.” Renji sat on the arm of one of the chairs in front of Izuru’s desk, reaching over to grab a piece of candy from the bowl on the corner of the surface. Popping it out of the wrapper, he gave it a casual toss into his mouth. 

Izuru had one of those expressions which conveyed nearly-limitless patience. He hadn’t used to, back at the academy. Renji personally suspected that it was something his friend had developed because of Ichimaru. The former captain was known for toying with members of his division; it had once been mostly harmless. 

“How is she?”

Renji moved the candy to one cheek. It was, of course, peppermint. Izuru would never eat something as cheerful as cherry or orange flavor. 

“You should go see her yourself.” It was what he said every day. Because it was the question Izuru asked him—every day. 

And also as usual, Izuru looked away guiltily, fixing his eyes on the persimmon tree outside his window. The leaves were darkening from spring to summer green—they might bear fruit soon. 

“…she’s the same. Isane-san’s sister brings her flowers.” Or so she’d said when he’d asked about them. 

“Kiyone-san?” 

Renji shrugged. He didn’t know her personally, but that might have been her name. Izuru moved his eyes away from the tree at this, pursing his lips.

Renji didn’t really understand why Izuru was so hesitant to go see Momo; he supposed it could have been a lot of things. Maybe, like Renji, he’d find it hard to see her like that. Find his anger hard to suppress. But Izuru wasn’t usually that kind of guy. With him, it was probably guilt, or shame, or something like that. He bit down on the candy, resisting the urge to grimace when the peppermint flavor flooded his mouth. It wasn’t spicy, _exactly_ , but he still didn’t like it much. 

He swallowed. “You should go see her,” he repeated. “She’s not gonna get any better if we’re not there to support her.” Going through something like that… there was no way she wouldn’t need her friends at some point or another. 

“…I know.” Izuru still didn’t sound convinced, really. 

Renji had a pretty good sense for when he shouldn’t push any further, though, so he didn’t. Standing, he reached up to rub the back of his neck with his hand. 

“Well. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” 

“Goodbye for now, Renji.”

* * *

The divisional training ring stood empty this early in the morning. The ground was still slick and wet with dew. Renji, preferring to wait until it had dried a bit, chose this time to perform _Jinzen_.

Crossing his legs, he set Zabimaru over his knees, closed his eyes, and sank into his inner world. 

Renji knew that some people were surprised by what theirs looked like. His hadn’t been a shock to him at all. 

The landscape he was surrounded by had several massive cracks in it, fissures that seemed to be filled by nothing but blackness. Aside from that, though, it was a weird mix of other places from his life. Most of it was just the shack he’d lived in as a kid, and the tree out in front of the place. The ground was hard-packed dirt and dying brown grass. Pushed up against the other side, though, was a ring nearly identical to the one he sat beside in the outer world. It was staffed by a bunch of targets and training dummies, made of wood or straw, drooping slightly in the latter case. Off to the left were pieces cut out from the dive bar he’d frequented during his academy days, clustered together with a riverbank from Inuzuri, complete with five sets of footprints at a campsite with a lean-to. Three of the sets had faded to faint impressions, but they’d never disappear.

The moon hung low and red in the sky, occasionally, as now, hidden behind a cloak of clouds. 

Zabimaru himself lounged under the tree, a pile of fruits next to him. Peaches, persimmons, and apples, mostly. His snake-tail lay around one of the roots, but perked up upon noticing Renji’s entrance. 

“Oh, look who it is.” The snake’s voice was the higher-pitched of the two. 

He _still_ wasn’t sure why they both had voices. Then again, Renji wasn’t sure about a lot of things, when it came to Zabimaru. Mostly, he was an asshole. But he was an asshole Renji had to listen to. 

“I come here every day,” he said in his defense. 

The baboon looked up at him, then, biting into the flesh of an apple with his sharp teeth. “You’re not here about bankai again, I hope.” 

He shook his head. “Not really.” There were enough other things to worry about. Bankai was still certainly on his mind—he hadn’t missed the part where there was going to be a very important war in about a decade—but he had to get the rest of this shit sorted out first or he’d never have the right frame of mind for bankai training anyhow. 

“Oh? Then what?” Zabimaru bit into the fruit again with a loud crunch, cracking the core with his teeth. 

Renji scratched the back of his head, glancing over at the bar/riverside area. The building part looked like it had been split in half, and one of them taken away—it was complete but open to the outside. “I’m stuck,” he admitted. 

“Stuck how?” Zabimaru sounded disinterested in the extreme, but that was normal. He threw the remnants of the apple core into the river with a flick of his wrist, picking up a peach next.

Renji tried not to roll his eyes. This was, after all, serious. “My friends,” he said, watching the ripples from the spirit’s toss grow and fade in the slow current of the river. “They’re in pain. And nothing I do seems to help.” 

“Why do you have to help? Isn’t this something they should work through on their own?” The flesh of the peach gave easily under the baboon’s teeth, bleeding juice onto the ground. 

He scowled. “Like hell. These are my friends we’re talking about. I’m not just gonna leave them to suffer alone!” 

Sometimes, his zanpakutō spirit really pissed him off. 

“And what can _you_ do?” The snake asked, flicking its tongue at him. “Your captain didn’t betray you. You can’t possibly understand their pain.”

That was what he feared. Sitting in a quiet hospital room, watching Momo breathe—or seeing Izuru’s eyes cloud over when he stared at the tree outside his office. Standing in a corner of the Ninth, and thinking that the ink stains on Hisagi’s fingers were too dark. Knowing Rangiku filled one more cup of sake each time they went out with the others. Being able to do nothing. He feared that a distance was growing, one he would not be able to cross when the dust settled. 

And he hated it. 

“Yeah, I know I don’t get it. But…” He ground his teeth. “There has to be something I can do anyway, if I just figure it out.” Renji wasn’t book-smart like Momo, and he couldn’t even say he understood people as well as Izuru did. But he refused to accept that there was _nothing_ he might be able to do to help. 

Zabimaru blinked at him, pausing in the act of peeling the peach down to its pit. “Just like there was something you could do when that Kuchiki showed up and took your best friend away?” 

“You—” Renji took a halting step forward, upper lip pulling away from his teeth in a snarl. 

Zabimaru threw the rest of the peach at him. Renji ducked to the side to avoid it. By the time he’d turned his attention back to the spirit, he’d stood—both heads glared. 

“You’re a coward,” they said together, and the baboon continued. “Fix your own problems first. Then, maybe, you’ll be able to do something about everyone else’s.”

* * *

Renji came to in the outer world with a start. Zabimaru had tossed him out on his ass, apparently. He knew the spirit wouldn’t be any more help now until he did something worth approval. Sighing heavily, Renji hauled himself to his feet and started pacing back and forth on the field. The dew-slick grass dampened his tabi quickly, but he didn’t really care much. 

His own problems? He supposed he had a few. 

So which one did Zabimaru want him to deal with? The spirit was generally critical of him—things had always been like that. But most of the time, it was just insults and playing devil’s advocate whenever Renji tried to make a decision. His zanpakutō liked forcing him to think things all the way through—while actually being pretty impulsive himself. But he never made Renji do _pointless_ things, so it was worth figuring out what he was trying to get at. 

Obviously, Zabimaru didn’t mean his short-term problems, like the extra work he was doing for the Fifth or anything like that. And whatever it was had to be _his_ problem, not Momo’s or Izuru’s or anyone else’s. 

Three immediately sprang to mind. The first was the need to get bankai, or more generally to get himself ready for whatever was going to happen with Aizen. That probably wasn’t it. The second was older, more long-term, and that was his goal to make himself stronger than Kuchiki-taichō. That couldn’t happen without bankai either, come to think of it. 

Then the third… the third was Rukia. 

His friendship with her had frayed until they were connected only by their shared childhood; even that was a pretty flimsy thread, really. But… he’d thought of telling her first when he was promoted to fukutaichō, and he knew why. When she’d been condemned, he’d gone to her cell every day, just like he went to Momo and Izuru every day now. 

He’d been just as useless to her as he was to them. 

That had to be it. That had to be what Zabimaru wanted him to do. 

Well… nothing worth doing was easy, he’d heard once.

* * *

“Renji?” Rukia looked up at him from her desk. 

Her paperwork was only kind-of in order, but her stack wasn’t too tall. Not like the one waiting for him back at the Sixth. 

But this was important, and he needed to do it while he still had the guts. 

“Hey Rukia. You got a minute?”

She looked down at the form in front of her—some kind of requisition, from the look of it—and then back up at him. 

“Yeah. Sure. Just let me finish this one.”

He nodded, and moved over to one side of the room, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Like the Sixth, the Thirteenth had desks for its unseated members in a sort of… modular design, he’d heard it called. It just looked like a bunch of little squares lined up straight to him. The seated officers shared smaller spaces—but the captain’s office here was usually empty. The vice captain’s office _always_ was. 

People with the name _Shiba_ had a pretty unlucky record in Seireitei service, actually. 

Rukia worked her way through the rest of the form, placing it on a smaller stack of completed stuff before standing. He moved to the door ahead of her—this wasn’t something to talk about here. They got a few curious stares as they left. He supposed no one here really had a reason to know they’d been friends, once. That bothered him. 

Renji struck out without a particular destination in mind. Rukia didn’t ask about it, so he figured it was all right by her. In fact, she didn’t talk at all, until they were a decent distance from the offices, on one of the connecting roads between divisions. 

“You wanted to talk about something?” 

He glanced down at her—she was so damn short. She hadn’t always been this small by comparison to him. Maybe he’d just grown too tall. 

“Yeah, I…” he grimaced. Putting feelings to words was not a strength of his. Lately, he was beginning to wonder if anything really was. He released a frustrated breath. 

“I never thanked you,” she said, when it became apparent that he was struggling. 

Renji raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For helping the others save me.” She said it like it was obvious. “For coming to see me in the prison.”

He frowned, recalling something that Ishida kid had said. “No one saved you,” he pointed out. “You decided you wanted to live, and we helped you make good on it.”

She huffed. “I think maybe you have the order mixed up, but… sure. Thanks anyway.”

Renji nodded. “Anytime.”

And that was really the thing, wasn’t it? He’d _meant_ that. He’d always mean it. But somehow, that fact had been lost in all the noise of the rest of their lives. 

“I… kinda screwed up,” he said. Understatement. 

She tilted her head to look up at him more fully. “What are you talking about?”

“After you were adopted.” He glanced away, his eyes landing on the roof tiles of the nearby dividing wall. There was an itch on his sternum; he eased it by scratching under his shihakushō. “I… should have worked harder to stay in contact.” He regretted that he hadn’t; maybe if he had, things would have gone differently. Maybe she’d never have been in danger that way. 

But then again, who knew? Maybe it would have just been a variation on a theme, the same with a couple things switched around. It wasn’t like Aizen had only one plan. Renji was no genius, but he knew enough about how they worked to understand that. 

Even so…

“I was lonely,” Rukia said quietly. “You were all I had, until you weren’t there anymore.”

His throat tightened. “I thought… I shouldn’t stand in your way. There you were, you know? Finally where I thought you’d always belonged. I didn’t want to hold you back.” He’d been afraid she wouldn’t want him to, at that. It had seemed better not to even try. Better to let her go.

“Shouldn’t _I_ be the one who decides where I belong?”

That startled him; he looked down at her, eyes narrowing. It wasn’t that she was wrong, just that believing something like that was… not like her. Not like the woman who’d willingly sat in a cell and waited to die.

“Yeah,” he said, grimacing. “I didn’t say I was right to think that way, but I did. Nobles have everything, you know? You deserved that, and if what you had to give up was me, well… I figured I’d make that part easy for you.”

Rukia snorted. “You’re an idiot. I was miserable without you.”

“Yeah, well… I was pretty miserable without you, too.” So much so that’d he’d devoted his attention to climbing upwards, hoping to reach her again someday. 

She pulled in a deep breath, turning a corner to keep them away from the Twelfth’s grounds. Probably a good idea. 

“I got by. I found other people to be friends with. My division’s vice-captain, Kaien-san, helped a lot. But then, he and Miyako-san…”

Renji frowned. He’d heard about that whole mess, though he didn’t know how deeply Rukia had been involved. If they’d been friends and then Shiba had died… shit. 

“I’m sorry. I should have been there.” His chest felt heavy. 

She shook her head. “You didn’t know. And besides… I’m just as guilty of not reaching out to you. We… we lost ourselves a bit, didn’t we?” Her smile was rueful, but it was a smile. 

“Yeah.” At least until some kid with a hero complex had managed to shove them both back on the right track again, however unintentionally. Renji figured he might owe Ishida for that. 

In any case, he’d been given a chance he didn’t intend to pass up. 

“I know you’re different now, Rukia, but… if we can, I think we should be friends again.” If nothing else, the events surrounding her execution had proven to him beyond a doubt that he still cared about her like he always had. She was still in that group of people he’d go all out for. The one that was like his family and his friends and his colleagues all rolled into one. 

She considered that for a bit—then nodded, nudging his arm with her elbow. “Just so you know… I don’t think we were ever _not_ friends. We just got a little lost on the way through something, is all.”

The knot in his chest loosened, and Renji breathed a little easier. 

“Glad to be found, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the first chapter of _Triple Point_. In keeping with the title, it will have three in total. Each one will focus on a different aspect of Renji’s identity. As you may have guessed, this is the chapter about Renji as a friend to the people he cares about.
> 
> I do like Renji—and I feel like he gets pretty shafted in canon a lot. He spends most of this time playing second fiddle to someone else (be that Byakuya or Ichigo), and doesn’t even get his true bankai by himself. Here’s my attempt to do him some justice as a person. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Reviews appreciated, but not mandatory.


	2. Soldier

Renji really didn’t like Kuchiki-taichō’s office. 

The way it was set up wasn’t the issue. The office furniture was way more expensive and fancy than anything Renji would ever want to own or even _touch_ , but he was used to that. Actually it was the atmosphere that got to him. Just like with everything else the captain ever did or said, there was a kind of enforced calm over it—a deep stillness that made Renji itch and want to fidget. Like he was a kid again and he’d been caught thieving. Like he should feel guilty for just being alive, somehow.

Kuchiki-taichō himself only made it worse, because he was basically all of that in the form of a person. 

It didn’t help that Renji was in here because he _was_ due some punishment. 

“The Sōtaichō has ruled that the matter of your actions during the ryoka invasion is mine to adjudicate.” 

The captain sat at his desk, writing. He didn’t so much as lift his head to acknowledge Renji; he just spoke to him as he would to the air. Renji tried not to ball his fists, but he couldn’t stop the agitated flex in his jaw muscle. He was terrible at hiding his feelings. Kuchiki, of course, was excellent at it. That flawless composure didn’t crack for anything. He _had_ to feel things under there, but damn if Renji ever saw evidence of it.

He kept his eyes on the wall behind his captain. There was a wall-scroll painting hanging there—a landscape with mountains and trees, by the look of it. Elegant and monochrome. Renji folded his arms behind his back. 

“You broke out of the barracks detainment cell, causing considerable property damage. You also incapacitated several members of your own division, men and women you are sworn to command and protect to the best of your abilities.”

Something about the flat way Kuchiki said it made it even worse. Renji avoided flinching by a narrow margin. He’d felt terrible about that when he was doing it, and he _still_ didn’t like that he’d had to. But he also still _felt_ that he’d had to, and he didn’t regret the decision. 

“You were insubordinate, to your captain and to the commands of the Central 46. You aided in an act of direct treason against the Soul Society.”

Renji scowled openly now. That made it sound like he was some kind of… that he was like _Aizen_ or something. All he’d wanted to do was stop his friend from dying for no reason. “And I’d do exactly the same thing again,” he said, unwilling and unable to stop himself. “You know that was a load of shit, Kuchiki-taichō. You ended up trying to stop it, too.” 

The captain couldn’t _possibly_ intend to dismiss him, could he? Send him to prison? Technically, it was possible. The Sōtaichō and the Central 46 were the only ones who could punish a captain. The Sōtaichō had very clearly chosen not to—possibly because all the captains were needed right now. The Central 46 was pretty defunct, only just reforming after the murder of the previous lot of them by Aizen. So the captains who’d committed _treason_ against the Seireitei were going to suffer next to no consequences. 

But he wouldn’t necessarily put it past Kuchiki to hand him the punishment mandated by the usual rules anyway. 

“I believe I misheard you,” the captain replied blandly. “What you must have said was that you are repentant of your crimes and have no inclination to repeat them in the future.” His pen stopped moving across the page, and he finally looked up. 

His eyes met Renji’s coolly, with no hint of human emotion whatsoever. He might as well have been an empty gigai. 

“Am I incorrect, Abarai-fukutaichō?”

Renji’s scowl deepened; behind him, he gripped his forearms in his hands. For several seconds, he bit down on his tongue, stifling his automatic affirmation. Zabimaru wanted him to think things through—now seemed like a good time to try. 

If Kuchiki had been anyone else, Renji would have suspected that this was a peace offering, of sorts. At least a way of ignoring his outburst. But this wasn’t anyone else—his captain didn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less _Renji_. 

Still… what other choice did he have, when his job was on the line? The Gotei 13 was part of who he was. He couldn’t give it up. 

“No sir,” he ground out. “You’re not.”

Kuchiki blinked, then nodded almost imperceptibly. He moved his eyes back down to his paperwork and started writing again. “Your punishment for these actions is to attend to the Sixth Division’s teaching responsibilities at Shin’ō Academy for the next five years. I will expect reports on the most promising members of each class during that time.”

That was it? He had to teach academy students for five years? It wasn’t the _most_ interesting thing to do, but it wasn’t awful.

“I, uh… yeah. I mean, yes taichō.” 

“You are dismissed.”

Renji saw himself out, still not quite sure exactly what had just happened.

* * *

Zabimaru was in the ring, this time, sitting at the edge of it looking in. A few of the dummies looked a little worse for wear, but other than that, the world itself hadn’t changed much. Renji approached the spirit from behind, well aware that Zabimaru already knew he was there. 

“Do you want to be called coward, or liar?” the baboon asked with an air of disinterest. 

Renji came to a stop next to him. “Neither, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It isn’t.”

He sighed. “What did I do this time?” He had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

“You took the coward’s way out, and you told a lie to do it. You should have stood your ground. That Kuchiki would have had some problems then.”

“Yeah,” Renji muttered, “like finding a new vice-captain.” When push came to shove, he really doubted Kuchiki would bend so far as to protect an openly-unrepentant subordinate. 

Zabimaru, unimpressed with his snideness, gave him a flat look. “You do not have to stay,” he pointed out. “Other groups would take you, if you transferred.”

Renji shook his head emphatically. “I’m not leaving. I’ve gotta stay.”

“Why?”

He pushed a breath out of his nose. “He has to see it, when I become stronger than he is. He has to _know_.” A dull stab of pain bloomed in his palms when his blunt fingernails pressed into them. 

“He has to know, or _you_ have to know?” Zabimaru idly scratched his chest, fingers pressing into the dense white fur there. 

Renji looked away, kicking a clod of dirt into one of the cracks in the landscape. It disappeared. “Both of us do.” He had to know he was worthy of standing on their level… and Kuchiki had to acknowledge it, too, or it wouldn’t be real. He’d brought that on himself when he’d snatched Rukia out of Renji’s world and dropped her in a new one. If he was going to gatekeep the spheres like that, he had to be the one to acknowledge that Renji belonged in their world, too. 

He didn’t give a damn about nobility or titles, but he did care about the acknowledgement. The respect. The legitimacy of it. He was a soldier of the Gotei 13. A protector of the balance, as well as his friends. And everyone was going to know he deserved that, someday. He wasn’t beneath them—or he wouldn’t be forever. 

“And I suppose you’re going to make this happen by sitting around like a useless lump, are you?”

Renji’s brows descended, heavy over his eyes. “Of course not. What do you think I’m out here doing every morning?” He trained for hours. 

“Oh please,” the snake hissed, spitting its customary venom at him. 

The baboon rolled its eyes. “Kata and form practice. Do more. There’s going to be a war—do you think any of your enemies are going to care how long you can hold crane stance?’

“They might if it makes the difference in a fight.” 

“Then get into a few, and see if it does.”

* * *

The Eleventh Division never really changed. 

It went through personnel a bit faster than most, of course, what with the rules for advancement within the ranks. Its members died most often on missions to the living world—in part because they were sent on those that required combat specialization, but also in part because of their ingrained tendency towards solo battles and going after the strongest possible foes. 

Renji had spent a lot of years here, as sixth seat, and he couldn’t deny that he had some of those dispositions, too. So it was only natural that, when he felt like he needed to challenge himself more, this was where he ended up. 

“Oy Yumichika. Is Ikkaku around?” 

Yumichika sat on the roof, a cup of tea in one hand, watching something on the other side. Renji couldn’t see what. At the shout, he turned slightly, glancing down over his shoulder. 

“Renji. You have a particularly ugly look on your face this morning.” 

Rolling his eyes, Renji gathered his feet under him and jumped onto the roof, landing lightly on the tiles. He climbed the slope until he was standing next to where Yumichika sat. Crossing his arms, he peered down.

They were looking at one of the Eleventh’s several dozen practice rings. Like the rest of them, it wasn’t in great repair. It had several large gouges in it, and old debris from the last time someone had leveled a building, most likely. The white stone protruded in irregular shapes from the ground, providing cover and terrain variation for the smart combatant. 

The fighters in the ring weren’t really paying much heed to it, though. Renji recognized Ikkaku immediately—he hadn’t yet released Hōzukimaru, but few people in the Seireitei had heads shiny enough to actually reflect sunlight. 

“Who’s he fighting?”

Yumichika sniffed. “Seventh Seat Hamacho.” 

The dismissive tone to the comment clued Renji in to the fact that it wasn’t a good match—a glance back down at the field confirmed it. Yumichika sighed, bringing his teacup to his mouth. The feather-things in his eyelashes moved as he narrowed his gaze on the field. 

“He’ll be done in about thirty seconds, if you were hoping for a fight.” 

He was done in twenty-five. Renji counted. 

When the unlucky seventh seat fell, Ikkaku sheathed Hōzukimaru and waved over an unseated shinigami. They spoke for a few seconds; the subordinate threw Hamacho over a shoulder and headed off the field. Probably for the Fourth. 

Yumichika stood up, walking to the end of the roof, tea still in-hand, and launching himself off and over the barrier wall into the ring. He landed without spilling a drop—Renji right behind. 

“Ikkaku! I think I found you a better match.” Yumichika’s smile was sly.

Ikkaku turned, eyes landing on Renji. “Abarai. Not here to ask me your stupid question again, are you?”

Renji had once made the mistake of asking Ikkaku to volunteer for one of the vacant captain’s positions. That had happened about six months ago, a year after the incident. Ikkaku’s refusal had been absolute, and Renji could respect his reasons. Especially considering how similar they were to his own, for remaining in the Sixth despite not being on good terms with its captain.

“Do I look like a dumbass to you? I’m just here to fight you, Ikkaku.” Renji crossed his arms. 

A fight was, of course, far preferable to a discussion to most anyone in the Eleventh. It was far preferable to _anything_ , for many of them. 

Ikkaku grinned. “Well why didn’t you say so? I just finished my warmup and everything.”

* * *

Yumichika refused to help support either of them as they dragged themselves to the Fourth, but that was to be expected. He did go with them, though, a clipboard with the necessary medical admittance forms already filled out held loosely in one hand. He had yet another cup of tea in the other. 

At the look Renji gave him, he frowned. “What? Who do you _think_ does the paperwork in our Division? The vice-captain?”

Renji wasn’t entirely sure Zaraki or Yachiru could _write_ , let alone do paperwork. He supposed Yumichika’s intervention was the best explanation for the fact that the division still actually ran. The practice fields might be hazardous, but all the office buildings and barracks were intact. 

Yumichika led the way into the hospital; Renji had to catch the door on the way in to prevent it from closing in his face. Shuffling in and trying not to make his broken arm any worse, he shifted slightly from foot to foot while Yumichika negotiated with the front desk. Ikkaku looked pissed to even be there, but there was something about the fifth seat’s insistence that was difficult to resist. Even for someone like Ikkaku.

“Abarai-san.”

Isane’s voice broke him away from his thoughts. She half-smiled at him. “This way, please.”

He nodded and followed her, catching a glimpse of what looked like several lower-seated officers trying to get Ikkaku into an exam room. Yumichika just sipped his tea and smiled. 

Isane opened a door and gestured for him to precede her. Renji didn’t have the same aversion to the Fourth as most of the people in the Eleventh did—to him, needing healing meant you’d worked damn hard, and getting the healers to fix it meant you wanted to get back to work sooner. There was nothing weak about that.

The exam room was plain like most of them, painted green, with an exam table in the middle and a bunch of equipment in one corner that he didn’t know anything about. He slid himself back onto the table with his good arm, feeling a few of his other injuries pull. 

Isane flipped through a few of the pages on her clipboard, then glanced up at him. “Okay, so… that arm’s broken. Anything else I should know about?” She eyed the tears in his uniform, expression neutral.

If he had to place her tone, he’d say it was actually slightly amused. 

Renji went to shrug, only to realize that wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. He winced. “Uh… yeah. Few cuts. Think I might have cracked a rib.”

Well, technically _Ikkaku_ had cracked it; he didn’t bother to differentiate. 

Isane made a couple more notes, then set her clipboard down on the counter. Washing her hands in the sink, she dried them and snapped on a pair of gloves. “All right. I’ll need to see them, please.”

“Sure.” He slid his shihakushō off his bad shoulder first, grimacing when it stuck slightly to some of the wounds that had already begun to dry. 

Isane had to help him maneuver his broken arm out, holding it carefully by the wrist and elbow to prevent additional shifting of the bones. The other side came off much easier, though Renji clenched his teeth as it passed over the skin of his back. 

She sighed. “Taking it easy didn’t really occur to you, did it?”

“Not really,” he admitted. 

Renji paused a moment. He hadn’t really told anyone what he was doing with all this; Ikkaku and Yumichika didn’t ask and no one else really knew to. He didn’t want to tell Rukia or Izuru—they had too much to deal with already. But he felt like he wanted to tell _someone_. If he did, maybe it would feel final. Solid. 

“I’m training for bankai… I think.” 

Isane looked up from her inspection of his cuts. “You _think_?” She tilted her head. 

“Well… Zabimaru’s not exactly helpful.”

She smiled mildly. Pausing a moment, she ran more water, hot enough that steam rose from the tap, and set it next to him on the exam table. With a cloth, she started to clean the worst of the blood off him. “I see. Were you perhaps hoping that training like this would convince him you were serious?”

Renji blinked; he hadn’t expected her to be that perceptive. Isane was one of those quiet people you could forget to notice if you weren’t intentionally looking for her. Maybe he should have expected that she knew more than she said. 

“…pretty much, yeah. But I _am_ serious.” He obligingly moved what parts of himself he could when she switched to cleaning with disinfectant. He was long used to the sting.

“Of that I’ve no doubt,” she said. She lit her hands with kidō—some kind of spell that turned the area around them dark green. “Hold still, please.”

Renji didn’t move, lifting his eyes to the tiled ceiling while she worked. There was something weird about watching yourself get put back together. “Any change in Momo?” he asked. 

“Her vital signs are a little stronger now,” Isane replied. 

Renji felt a warmth spread over his broken arm, not unlike he would have felt if he’d immersed it in the hot water. The wet crack as the bone snapped back into place was much less soothing.

“We’ll be able to take her off direct life support in a week or so, if her recovery continues. I think—I think your visits are helping, actually. You’re one of only a few people that comes by.”

“Who else does?” He wondered if maybe Izuru had finally taken his advice and just not told him about it. 

“Mostly other members of the Shinigami Women’s Association. Rangiku-san once or twice, Kiyone at least once a week. Nanao-san drops in regularly too.”

“And you.” The pain over the right side of his chest eased, then disappeared. She’d healed the cut there. 

He heard her pause; her hands stopped moving for a second. “Well… yes. I am her physician, after all.”

Renji didn’t quite buy that. “Yeah, but… she’s been like this for a year and a half. You could let one of the lower seats check on her.” He lowered his eyes and blinked at her. 

Isane was chewing her lip. She moved out of his vision and to his back nevertheless, her systematic treatment resuming where it had left off. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he explained. “Actually, I remember thinking I was glad it was you who was looking after her. So thanks.”

“It’s… it’s really no problem.” 

When the cut on his back was gone too, she checked his ribs, a process which involved prodding at the side of his abdomen. She was careful about it, but it definitely wasn’t that comfortable. Wincing sympathetically, Isane switched the color of her kidō back to the blue. 

He felt a grinding in his ribcage that actually caused him no pain. That was the weird thing about the healing they did here—it always seemed like it _should_ hurt, but it didn’t. Or, well… it didn’t if a decently-skilled officer was doing it. 

Isane straightened, removing her gloves and depositing them in the trash can by the counter. “I think you’re all set. Do you still feel any pain?”

Renji rolled his shoulders, testing his muscles, then shook his head. “Nah. Looks like I’m good as new.” He put his arms back through his sleeves and shrugged his shihakushō back into place, blood and all. “Thanks, Isane-san.”

Her answering smile was faint. “Just… try not to hurt yourself too much, okay? But good luck, with your bankai training.”

* * *

It was not often he made it this far towards the center of the Seireitei. 

But Sasakibe had called a vice-captain’s meeting, to coincide with the captain’s meeting taking place a couple of buildings over. Even if Renji didn’t wear the armband very often, he was still a fukutaichō, and he made sure he was on time. 

There was a large, circular meeting table in the middle of the room, and they sat around it, precise numerical ordering forgone in favor of clustering with the people they knew best. Renji sat between Izuru and Hisagi—Rangiku on Izuru’s other side. No one mentioned the empty chair. Ise and Sasakibe were already present, and Isane and Ōmaeda entered right after. The others made it right under deadline.

Sasakibe cleared his throat once everyone was seated. “All right. Thank you for coming, everyone. As you well know, today marks the second year since the events of the ryoka invasion and Sōsuke Aizen’s defection from the Seireitei, along with Gin Ichimaru and Kaname Tōsen.” He did not use their titles—obviously a deliberate choice on his part.

There was a heavy silence, one that Sasakibe allowed for a long minute. Renji shifted awkwardly in his seat, chancing a glance at Izuru. His friend didn’t show much by way of expression, but he was obviously tense nonetheless. 

“The Sōtaichō has asked me to collect information from you regarding personnel numbers, and any additional needs your divisions have. As you are all aware, war is imminent. When it comes, we must be prepared, as much as possible. In order to do that, we may be required to step across the usual boundaries of division. But we should not do so carelessly.” 

There were a few nods around the table; Sasakibe continued. “The First Division is functioning normally. We intend to replace our retiring officers with promising recruits from the graduating class of Shin’ō, as usual.”

Of course, classes wouldn’t be starting for at the academy for another week or so, but at least fifty students would be taking the graduation exams by the end, so assuming decent scores, there’d be a fair few to go around. Renji was teaching first-years this time, though—that information wouldn’t be as useful yet. 

Ōmaeda reported that the Second was in about the same shape. 

“As with some of the other divisions, the Third took a considerable loss of personnel after the defection of its captain.” Izuru frowned slightly, moving his hands under the table. 

Renji crossed his arms, biting his tongue inside his mouth. 

“We have yet to fully make up the difference, and until we once again have a captain, I have decided to keep the squad at one hundred and fifty, which is nearly what we have now. However, I believe we’re in a position to take recruits again, so I will be attending the exams at Shin’ō next summer.” Izuru paused a moment. “All of our drill instruction positions are covered for the moment, but we are unfortunately not in a position to be able to offer any additional assistance to anyone else.”

Sasakibe nodded, moving his eyes to Isane.

“The Fourth is running quite stably at the moment. I can’t promise anything without the captain’s permission, but there might be a few of us who can help other divisions teach kidō, if necessary.”

An awkward beat of silence followed. 

“I can speak to the Fifth’s condition.” Ise adjusted her glasses. 

She always sat so perfectly straight; Renji wondered if she wouldn’t develop some kind of spine problem. 

“Due to the absence of either a captain or a vice-captain, the division is run to the extent possible by the third seat. I have assumed many of the duties that require someone of more authority; but, due to my own responsibilities, I have truncated the division at its current size, which is approximately seventy-five people.”

Renji blew out a long breath. That was a lot fewer than the two hundred shinigami most divisions hovered around. He knew a lot of people had requested transfers or discharges after Aizen, and then more still when the division continued to founder without leadership. It was actually pretty impressive that Ise had even been able to keep it at that number. 

“Unless and until Hinamori-fukutaichō awakens or a new officer is appointed, that is likely where it will remain. At this point, patrols are operative on a reduced schedule, and the living world assignments have been adjusted to account for the numbers. The Eighth has absorbed most of the additional work, with Kyōraku-taichō’s permission. Drills and training are uneven. Abarai-fukutaichō—” Ise nodded at him—“has picked up the advanced zanjutsu ones, but we are still in need of people with advanced hakuda and kidō skills to run those.”

“Thank you, Ise-san,” Sasakibe said, his tone grave. 

Since it was his turn, Renji straightened a bit in his seat. “The Sixth is fine. We’ve got a few more people requesting retirement this year than usual, but we’ll probably be able to make it up with an extra graduate or two.” 

Since Ise had already covered the part where he was helping with the Fifth, he didn’t repeat it. 

The Seventh had lost about ten unseated shinigami in a living world mission recently, but would recruit to compensate over the next couple of years.

The Eighth was doing a _lot_ more work than most other divisions, since it had half-absorbed the remnants of the Fifth, but they were handling it to Ise’s standards, which meant doing very well by anyone else’s. 

“The press is up and running again,” Hisagi said. “We’ve just released our issue on the ryoka invasion, and we’re going to reprint. It was more popular than we’d anticipated. As for manpower… I’m keeping us capped at a hundred and fifty until we appoint a captain. We’ll need a few recruits to make that number, but I think we’ll be back to it by next summer.”

The Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth were all fine. Though it took about twice as long to get through Sentarō and Kiyone’s report, it seemed like the Thirteenth was, too. 

That said, even Renji could see that there were still gaping wounds in the Gotei 13. They weren’t ready for a war, and it was obvious. 

“Well… let’s hope the Academy crop is really, really good this year,” Hisagi said darkly. 

Renji couldn’t help but agree. But they had to do more than that. 

“...Don’t forget about us,” he said. 

A few heads turned in his direction, most of them curiously. 

“We’re the fukutaichō,” he reminded them. “If anyone can get stronger in enough time to make a difference in the war, it probably has to be us. I know our captains are way above us in terms of power, and most of us have gotten used to that. But obviously we can’t expect them to do everything themselves. And the more of us that are good enough to support them on the field, the better chance we’ve got.” He frowned. 

“You never know. It’s not likely, but it could be one of us that makes the difference.”

Izuru nodded morosely, Ise thoughtfully. Hisagi wore a pensive expression, but Isane half-smiled. 

“Well,” Rangiku cut in, standing and putting her hands on her hips. “I think we’ve had more than enough seriousness for one day. I for one am going to go enjoy myself. Sasagin, anyone?”

Several heads perked up at the mention of the bar. 

Renji cracked a grin. “Sounds like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's chapter two. Renji doing training stuff and vice-captain stuff, and a bit of worldbuilding, etc. Next chapter will be the big one, and then Momo gets a story.


	3. Stray Dog

His students this year were—well, he hadn’t been expecting this, to say the least. 

Renji hadn’t really thought much about it when one of the names on his roster was ‘Ishida.’ It wasn’t a common name, exactly, but it wasn’t all that rare, either. He’d figured it was merely a coincidence that one of the new class one students had the same last name as the Quincy kid from two years ago. 

But then he’d actually entered the classroom for the first time, and his eyes had landed on a familiar face. 

It was really weird, seeing that guy wearing the Shin’ō uniform. It was going to be even _more_ awkward teaching zanjustu to someone who had technically beaten him in a swordfight. But Renji knew there was a difference between winning a fight and knowing the fundamentals—so it could be worse. It didn’t take him long to decide that—strange as all of this was—he could deal with it just fine. He had no idea what a Quincy was _doing_ at Shin’ō, but if he qualified, he qualified; it sure as hell wasn’t Renji’s job to spend too much time wondering about the repercussions.

Nowadays, nearly half a year into the whole thing, he could safely say that this was the best class he’d ever taught—would probably ever teach. 

There was a lot of the same classist bullshit that went on when he was at Shin’ō, but even the nobles recognized that the others were legitimate competition. They all pushed each other hard, directly or otherwise. Ishida, the mouthy Kurosaki twin, and that Sugitani kid with the yakuza tattoos were all excellent—he’d have a lot more to write about this year in his report to the captain than he’d thought.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching them spar with each other. There was a certain kind of enthusiasm for it that he rarely encountered in older shinigami. Whether it was because it was all new and different to them or because they hadn’t yet confronted what it really _meant_ to wield a sword, they took on each new lesson with an eagerness usually only seen in the Eleventh. Or maybe occasionally the Seventh. Even those with cooler attitudes absorbed the information like sponges. 

The war hung over them, too, he could tell. Especially Ishida. But their spirits didn’t seem dampened despite knowing what was ahead.

It was a sharp contrast from the mood that hung over the officers of the Gotei 13, and by extension the rest of them as well. Renji found it at once refreshing and uncomfortable to be around. Refreshing, because it was good not to have to deal with the constant oppressive atmosphere. Uncomfortable… because their progress, and their undiminished determination, reminded him of all the things he hadn’t yet accomplished. He’d been like them once, striving forward with a hunger for improvement and acknowledgement—a starvation, almost. 

But reality had curbed his appetite. 

“All right everyone. That’s enough for now. Get set for _Jinzen_.”

* * *

“It’s been a while since we’ve been out here.”

Renji looked to his right. Rukia picked her way over the debris in the street with a kind of grace that instantly placed her at odds with their surroundings. It was hard to imagine, really, that she’d come from a place like this. Their black shihakushō were stark against the faded browns and washed-out greys of Inuzuri’s streets. Everything here was covered in a fine layer of dust—it blew in from the outer districts too often to bother trying to clean off, he remembered. 

“Yeah.” 

Renji wasn’t sure what else to say. This had been his idea, but he didn’t really know what he was after. Maybe he wanted to prove something, but whether to himself or someone else, he had no idea. He’d just woken up that morning feeling like he had to come here, and then thought maybe Rukia would want to come, too. 

Their passage did not go unnoticed. The streets weren’t that busy in the middle of the afternoon like this, but vendors pretending to be asleep in their stalls and kids peering out from the shadows of ramshackle buildings tracked their motions all the same. All of them were covered in dust and dirt, too. That’s just how it was, here. 

He couldn’t blame them for the curiosity. Shinigami weren’t common out here. Patrols never got so far out, and so for two of them to just show up out of nowhere… they probably wondered if there was a Hollow around or something. Renji knew now why no one really ever came here. Firstly, if a Hollow was brave enough to actually attack in Soul Society, it was ambitious enough to pick an area with a better concentration of reiatsu. Secondly… no one in the Seireitei really gave a shit about the people this far away from the center of things. At least not anyone in the Central 46.

They passed out of the more populated area and reached a familiar dirt road. Renji’s feet were on it and carrying him forward by instinct. Rukia followed. 

The shack wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t surprised by that. It had been in terrible, shitty shape when they were living in it, and things that flimsy always fell down. The tree still stood, though; fruitless and haggard as ever, but a living tree even so. 

Rukia smiled at the sight of it, walking over to it and running her hand up and down the bark. “I remember this,” she murmured, then tilted her head up. “I think it’s gotten taller.”

“Probably,” Renji replied, passing up the opportunity to rib her about her height. He wasn’t really in the mood. 

She hopped easily up into the lowest-hanging branch and sat, letting her legs dangle over the side and kicking them back and forth. She gestured at him, and Renji sighed, walking over to stand underneath. The tree may have gotten taller, but so had he, and his head barely cleared the space under the branch. 

“Remember that time I surprised you from up here?” she asked. 

Of course he did. He never forgot anything that had happened here—even if he’d tried to, his inner world was too similar to let him. He nodded. 

“You said you weren’t looking for me, after I ran out.”

Renji crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder into the trunk. “I was,” he confessed. He’d been worried. He’d worried a lot back then—more than he would have admitted. They were all kids, but he was the oldest one, by his own reckoning. The one who had to protect the rest of them. 

He’d made a complete mess of that. And maybe most things since. 

“I was glad.”

He tilted his head to look up. One of the few times she was taller than him, and it was still only a couple of feet. Renji frowned at her. “You were?”

She nodded. “Of course. It was the first time in my life anyone had ever done that. Ever looked out for me.” She braced her hands on either side of her, palms down on the branch. 

For just a moment, she was a little girl again, and he was a little boy, and nothing had changed at all. But then his perception shifted, and Renji once again saw her as she was—not who she had been. She was incongruous with the scene now; she didn’t belong in it, this dusty world where stray dogs fought for scraps. 

Renji dropped his eyes. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

There was a thud on the ground and a gust of air when she landed. Briefly, Rukia put a hand on his arm, just a light touch. 

“It’s getting late.”

Renji expelled a heavy breath. 

“Yeah.”

* * *

The wooden markers that had once stood in the spot had rotted away years ago. The graves themselves were smoothed over by time, flat where once they’d been mounds. Even the people buried there were probably all elderly in the living world by now. 

He wondered what kind of lives they’d led. 

If they were better than life in Inuzuri.

He hoped so. 

Rukia had gone back to the Seireitei, but Renji lingered, unable to leave the old neighborhood just yet. His feet had taken him here, to the hill where they’d buried their friends. He stood in front of the spot, staring at the ground and thinking of faded footprints in his inner world. 

“Hey, guys.” 

No one was there to hear him. 

“I guess, if your lives over there were normal, it won’t be too much longer till you’ll be back here.” Sometimes, the years felt heavy. It was hard to imagine that most humans, and most souls, lived only a handful. Eighty, maybe a hundred, if they were lucky. Renji would live so much longer than that. He almost had, already. 

“It’d be kind of strange, me coming here then, when you were somewhere else in Soul Society.”

Of course, they didn’t remember him anymore now, and they wouldn’t then, either. He’d never recognize them. Maybe one of them was already some baby in some house. Or a new arrival, pulled from the living world at middle-age. Renji didn’t pretend to understand how that was decided. 

“You’ve all moved on now. If there’s any justice in the world, you’ll never have to come back to this place.” To the dust and the grime and the threadbare patchwork of a life they’d had. 

“Rukia’s moved on too, you know. I dunno if I ever told you this, but she was adopted into a noble family. The Kuchiki. You don’t know who they are—never mattered out here—but they’re one of the big names. Right up there, way above the rest of us.” He shook his head, crossing his arms. 

“Someone finally hung her star in the sky, I guess.” 

Sighing heavily, he uncrossed his arms and curved one of them back over his neck, feeling the rough scratch of his own calluses over the skin of his nape. 

“Everyone’s left this place behind but me. You can take the mutt out of Inuzuri, but…” Renji shook his head, trying to jar the thought from it. But it wouldn’t leave him, much as he might wish otherwise. Grimacing, he turned from the graves, and stepped into _shunpō_.

* * *

Aside from the divisional training areas, there were a few others, specially set aside for use by captain- and vice-captain-level shinigami. They were designed in the shape of large domes, modeled after a blueprint invented by some captain from a long time ago. The domes were designed to contain the effects of extreme reiatsu pressure and more widespread bankai, like the one Hitsugaya had. Izuru had explained it to him once—the domes were made of sekkiseki layered with other materials to create a dampening effect that would make training harder, but not completely impossible like it would be in the Central Great Underground or the Repentance Cell. 

It also had the benefit of being more private than his division’s training grounds, and more durable. He didn’t have to worry about going all-out in it—and the resistance training, adjustable to several settings, would help increase his ability to output reiatsu. 

When nothing else had moved Zabimaru even slightly, Renji had taken to scheduling himself several slots a week in here. 

He arrived slightly early for this one—the schedule indicated that Isane was inside, so he waited outside the door. She emerged a few minutes later, the ends of her hair dripping and the collar of her shihakushō damp. 

“Abarai-san.” She blinked at him. “I’m sorry—was I late leaving?”

Renji shook his head. “Nah. I just got here early is all.”

“More bankai training?”

He made an affirmative sound. “What were you doing in there? The same?”

“Oh, no,” she put both hands up in front of her, waving them slightly. “Nothing—I’m nowhere near that level yet. I’m just… working on some of Itegumo’s shikai abilities, and practicing my offensive kidō.” She hesitated, moving her eyes from the door to him and back again. 

“I just… I thought about what you said. In the meeting. About how one of us might make a difference. I don’t—I don’t suppose it would ever be me who brought down Aizen, or anything. But… but it occurred to me that maybe someday I’d have to heal the person who could, in a hostile situation. And so maybe… maybe I should work harder to be able to defend them, too.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I’ll… I’ll just get out of your way, then, shall I?”

She was gone before Renji could point out that she wasn’t _in_ his way. 

Shaking his head, he pushed the door aside and entered the dome. It had been properly reset, though the ground bore some impressive fissures from whatever Isane had been doing. Kidō, maybe. 

Walking to the middle of the ring, Renji warmed himself up with some stretches and a jog. At least teaching first-years was good for reminding himself not to neglect the basics. Once he’d done that, though, he drew his sword. 

“ _Hoero, Zabimaru_.”

His zanpakutō seemed to have other ideas. Renji took a step back in surprise when the spirit manifested right in front of him—in the outer world. He could do that reliably now, but he hadn’t intended to, meaning that Zabimaru had decided for himself that he wanted to appear. 

“Why do we even bother with you?” the snake hissed, opening its mouth far enough to bare fangs at him. “You don’t understand anything at all.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Renji shot back. He usually tried to be patient with the spirit, but even he had limits. “I’ve been doing every damn thing you tell me to, and you’re never satisfied! I’ve worked things out with Rukia, I train until I can’t walk anymore, and I tolerate your bullshit cryptic hints every damn night in my head! What else could you possibly want?” His hand tightened around the tsuka of the segmented blade—it had released despite the spirit’s manifestation. 

“Oh, yes. You have, down to the bolts, done everything we have asked. And yet you still do not understand what you are being told!” The snake reared back, swaying dangerously from side to side. 

Frankly, he’d almost rather it attacked him than led him around in yet more circles, but that was not to be. 

“What are you, Renji Abarai?” the baboon asked, narrowing his eyes at him. 

Renji gritted his teeth. “What kind of question is that? What kind of answer could I possibly give you that would make a difference?” He didn’t think in abstractions like that, in terms that general, but even he knew there were _dozens_ of true answers, at least. 

“What are you, right down in your bones, at the very heart of you?” Zabimaru asked the question almost like he was making an accusation. Both heads were snarling at him. 

Renji snarled right back. “Like you don’t know!” 

Frustrated, he swung the blade at the spirit. If it had manifested itself, it was fair game for a fight. If he’d thought about it, he would have realized that the shikai actually working against the spirit was a bit weird, but it did. 

—Or it would have, if he’d landed the hit. In one powerful jump, Zabimaru was away, landing effortlessly a dozen feet to the left. Renji swung again, whipping the blade in a quick viper-stroke. It nicked the very edge of Zabimaru’s fur. Anything further was precluded as the spirit once again disappeared and then reappeared elsewhere. 

“We know,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you accept it.”

Renji swung for the third time, immediately stepping into _shunpō_ to compensate for the time he’d need to re-lock the segments of his sword together. It was a bit of a temperamental weapon, in that sense. But he knew his shikai’s weaknesses well, and had learned how to compensate for them a long time ago. 

Zabimaru was consistently fast enough to avoid his strikes, however—fast enough as well to surprise Renji by appearing behind him. A heavy fist slammed into his back, knocking him facefirst into the ground. 

Renji tasted blood and dirt. Rolling to the side, he avoided a bite from the snake, pushing himself up one-handed and using the other to swing the blade again. Warmth ran freely from his split lip, dripping off his chin and splashing red onto brown. 

“Say it,” Zabimaru insisted. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m a shinigami!” Renji roared, bringing his left hand to join the right on the hilt of his sword. With his whole body, he swung, sending the shikai flying as fast as he could. 

A crash thundered in his ears, the reverberations from a massive impact vibrating the segmented sword so vigorously he thought it would almost certainly break. Renji retracted it quickly, and it snapped back into place with an echoing clang. Several of the teeth on the front side were bent at odd angles, and when the dust cleared, he saw why. 

Zabimaru’s manifested spirit was protected by what looked like a giant snake skeleton. Actually, it seemed to be growing out of the baboon half of the spirit the way the snake part usually did, as though it had transformed. It was the flat brow of the skull that had blocked his swing—he could see small scratches in it where he’d hit. Just after the jaw, around the very top of its neck, was a ruff of red fur or something, and the rest of it looked like vertebrae—circular column-pieces held together with reddish reiatsu. 

“Wrong,” Zabimaru said. “Liar. Coward. Tell me what you are!”

The massive snake skull shot forward—Renji had to scramble out of the way with _shunpō_. If it could absorb a full-strength blow from his sword like that… he definitely didn’t want to get hit by it. 

It was all he could do to stay out of its way. The snake skeleton was massive, but moved about as quickly as he did, and Zabimaru seemed almost able to anticipate his maneuvers. Then again… he probably could. How long had they fought together?

“Remind you of anything?” Zabimaru taunted. “When push comes to shove and you stand on your own, you _lose_ , Renji. Just like you lost to the Quincy. To Aizen. Even to that Kuchiki.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Renji _tsked_ and jumped backwards, the stark-white jaws of the snake’s head crashing into the ground where he’d just been. Its fangs punctured the earth, burying deeply into the dirt. He took the opportunity to reposition above it and swing again, this time aiming for the joints further down its back. 

Three lashes, three clean cuts. It fell apart at the seams, thudding to the floor like heavy rain. 

“You think that was it?” Zabimaru’s voice was low, threatening. 

Before Renji’s eyes, the serpent reassembled itself, reiatsu flaring to life where it patched itself together; it flew once more for his position, forcing him to get out of the way. 

“Run all you want, coward.” The spirit snarled at him, baring pointed teeth. “It will never be far enough.”

The cat-and-mouse felt like it dragged on forever—Renji was gaining no ground. Zabimaru’s new tail seemed completely impervious to anything he was capable of throwing at it, and at every turn, the spirit adjusted for Renji’s strategy. 

Not that he _had_ much of a strategy, besides trying to hit it harder and not get hit himself. 

It got him from the side and threw him to the ground. Unable to break his fall in time, Renji connected with a hard _thunk_ ; a series of dull cracks and the exploding pain in his chest clued him in to the fact that he’d broken at least three ribs. 

It hurt to breathe; his vision flickered. 

Renji rolled to the side, sucking in air despite the burn of it. He couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t fight this, whatever Zabimaru was doing. When it came right down to it, he had no hope of winning. His hands grasped for purchase on the ground, enough friction to push him up to his knees. 

It was the same as every other time it really mattered. 

He hadn't been able to protect his friends. They’d died, out there in Inuzuri, never to know anything better. Even though he’d been the oldest. The one who had to keep them safe. 

Breathing raggedly, he pulled one of his legs up underneath him, trying to regain his footing. 

He’d been too scared to tell Rukia that he wanted her to stay with him, instead of leaving to be adopted into the Kuchiki family. He told himself his silence was for her, so she’d feel no guilt. But it had been for him—so that he could disguise his cowardice as concern. So that someone stronger could protect her before Renji failed. 

His foot slipped; Renji caught himself with his hands before he landed on his ribs again. 

Even when his oldest friend was about to die, he’d been too afraid to stand up for her. And some kid from the living world had crashed into the Seireitei and stood down all of Soul Society to do it. There was no way he could win against a resolve like that. Not when his own had wavered. 

A shuddering breath left his lungs; the one that entered was a fraction steadier, but just as painful. 

And then—when he’d finally made up his mind—he couldn’t even get her away fast enough to stop Aizen from getting exactly what he wanted. He hadn’t been able to protect her then, either; that task had fallen to his captain. Kuchiki had succeeded, once again, where Renji had failed. 

“All this time,” he muttered, spitting out the blood that welled in his mouth. His arms trembled under his weight. The fingers of his free hand curled into the dirt, leaving shallow furrows. Like shallow footprints on a riverbed. “All this time… I’ve told myself I was going to be better. A better friend. Someone who could protect my friends, someone they could lean on.” 

He couldn’t wake Momo up, or chase the pain from Izuru’s eyes. He couldn’t get Hisagi to crack a smile or Rangiku to slow down after her third cup. He was useless to all of them.

Renji blinked; the black spots in his vision faded to the edges. “A better soldier—someone who deserves to stand and be acknowledged.” He gritted his teeth, heaving himself upright with the remaining strength in his arms. “Who deserves _them_.”

His captain didn’t even feel the need to look at him when they spoke.

The sword was heavy in his hand. Maybe too heavy for him to lift, anymore. Zabimaru was staring at him, though, not attacking him.

“But I’m nothing but a tramp. That’s what I am, down in my bones. Just a Rukongai dog, howling at the moon I’ll never reach.” 

Rukia had never belonged in Inuzuri. Renji always would. 

“I’m such a fucking coward.” Too afraid to even acknowledge the truth. A coward and a liar, just like Zabimaru always said. 

The snake’s head darted forward again. Renji didn’t have the energy to _shunpō_. There was no choice but to meet the attack head-on. He’d have to give it everything he had if he wanted to survive. 

Keeping the sword locked, he whipped it around in his right hand, gripping with his left as well when he swung down. It hit the skull straight on, the impact ricocheting through Renji’s whole body, a shake that started in his arms, trembled through his chest, shooting agony into his broken ribcage, and shuddering down to his legs. He pushed back as hard as he could, pressing down with both his physical strength and his reiatsu. 

If he couldn’t do this—if he couldn’t even prove himself worthy of his own bankai—what right did he have to be here? To stand beside his friends, who were all working their hardest for their broken divisions and their broken hearts? He, who knew not a fraction of their pain? How could he call himself their friend, a soldier of the Gotei 13, if he was just going to be a coward with his tail between his legs?

He’d talked a big game about making a difference in the war. How was he going to do that if he was too fucking _scared_ to get any better at the one thing he was any good at? His kidō would be no help; his strategies were useless against someone like Aizen. All he had was this—a moody sword that had been trying to tell him what he needed to do for years now. 

Renji bore down with all his strength. He could almost feel his blade bending out of shape, but a crack appeared in the surface of the snake’s head. He wanted this. He wanted it with every part of him. He was going to _take_ it—one way or another.

The crack became a splinter, and Renji poured every bit of reiatsu he had left into the struggle. A series of sharp snaps followed, one, then two, then a cascade of them, all at once, and the skull beneath his blade shattered. 

He lurched forward, barely keeping his feet, and planted his warped blade against the ground to steady himself. He blinked; when he opened his eyes, Zabimaru stood in front of him, tail returned to normal. 

“You know what’s good about a stray dog?” the spirit asked. 

Renji, too drained to speak, shook his head. 

“A stray dog never stops starving. And so it never stops striving. If you quit howling and start reaching, you won’t just touch the moon.” Zabimaru narrowed his eyes. 

“You will _swallow_ it.”

Renji shuddered. He could feel his consciousness fading, the spirit’s voice softening until he could just barely hear. 

“My name… is Sōō Zabimaru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Term Dictionary_ :
> 
>  _Itegumo_ – 凍雲 – “Frozen Cloud.” This is Isane’s zanpakutō. Its release command is _hashire_ (奔れ), which is the imperative of “to run.” Canon doesn’t give it any special abilities to speak of, which means I eventually get to have fun inventing those. 
> 
> _Sōō Zabimaru_ – 双王蛇尾丸 – “Twin Kings Snake Tail.” Renji’s true bankai. Uh… spoilers if you’re not that far in the manga, I guess, but the giant snake thing is not his true bankai. I had him fighting against the snake-skeleton version here as a way of proving to Zabimaru that he was worthy of the true bankai, which Zabimaru decided he is. So that’s what he has now. He still has to work with it more to get full power out of it, of course.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So… yeah. There was my attempt to do a decent character study on Renji, as well as to give him a bit more credit for his own achievements than canon ever does. I think, given the other ways the AU diverges from canon, this makes a fair amount of sense. 
> 
> We’ve now caught up with the middle of TBP. The next story in the series is Momo-centric (though we may get an alternate POV or two), and takes place mostly after TBP is finished. It’s called _Plasticity_ , and if all goes to plan, the first chapter will be up tomorrow.


End file.
